The Looking Glass Self
by Ehbel
Summary: When faced with a choice to leave the wizarding world forever, or to lose her own identity to help the people she loves, Hermione chooses to cast her lot with the loathsome Professor Snape. AU Post-OOTP, Non-HBP and DH compliant. A novel length fic, in progress.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hey folks, anything you recognize does not belong to me. I'm going to do my best to draw heavily on the canon resources to keep this world as rich and entertaining as JK meant it to be. Occasionally I will make up some spells and things, but that's all part of the fun. This is non-HBP compliant, but I will be using some information from HBP and DH. Hope you enjoy!

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><p>Hermione Granger blinked—once, twice—as the window of her bedroom slowly slid into focus in the dim morning light. The sky was overcast—no surprises there, but she found the darkness comforting.<p>

She rolled over onto her stomach, snuggling deeper into the pillows and blankets on her bed. It was maybe 5 or 6 in the morning, she mused sleepily. A tiny grin tugged at the corner of the cheek that wasn't pressed into a pillow, and for the first time in months, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. Or maybe she just wasn't awake enough to feel anything but sleepy contentedness; she didn't want to question the gentle quiet that filled her as she slowly journeyed to complete wakefulness. It was a sensation quite unlike the accustomed dread and fear that dragged her from the nightmares that had haunted her every night since the fiasco at the Ministry. Her most recent dream had been a pleasant one, but despite her half-hearted attempt to shut out consciousness, thoughts began to seep through.  
>The memories came slowly at first, then faster and faster as she processed for the thousandth time everything that had happened at the end of the school year. Somehow, this morning was different; this morning there was no fear.<p>

She felt safe in her cocoon, safe in her little home where the only demons that existed were the ones in her head. The usual crushing sadness over Sirius' death had slowly faded to the background of her emotional landscape, like a dark cloud that hovered, but no longer threatened imminent rain.

She plucked at mental strings, trying to gauge where this sudden peace had sprung from, trying to understand what she felt and why.

She felt…sadness for Harry, hunger and the mild urge to pee, anticipation for her visit to the Burrow the next day, fear for Harry's mental health, trepidation and a frightening excitement at the thought of seeing a certain Weasley- she dropped that string and retreated to another, safer thought. She felt worried about the next school year, and even a little bit of dread over facing the same round of tests and classes when it felt like everything had changed.

_Well, not everything_, she thought, realizing she hadn't gotten her O.W.L. scores back yet. The old thrill of fear leapt up into her chest, and for the first time fear of failing her tests trumped the fear of Dolohov and his awful curse. She hoped it would last, hoped for normalcy, as she shifted in bed and slid a finger up and across her chest where the ropy scar the Death Eater had given her stretched tightly across her soft skin.

She was distracted from lingering too long in melancholy by the soft puttering noises that came from the kitchen down the hall. The sound of her father murmuring to her mum while he placed coffee on the stove was soothing to Hermione, as was the delicate laughter from her mum in response. Their daily morning ritual rarely woke her, and for the first time she wondered what it was that had drawn her out of sleep so early. She listened carefully for a few moments, and was rewarded when a sharp click and coo cut through the calm atmosphere of the Granger household.

A series of hushes and one indignant squawk was all she needed to hear before she knew an owl had arrived. Hermione's peaceful moment ceased in an instant as she leapt up out of bed and scrambled out the door.

"An owl?" she called to her parents as she ran into the kitchen, "who is it from?"

Ron hardly ever Owl'ed her before noon, much less—she glanced at the ticking clock above the petite gas stove—6:30 in the morning. Harry's responses to her letters, too, were few and far between and never sent until the evening. Hardly anyone else had reason to write her, and she'd unsubscribed from the Prophet so she wouldn't have to read its constant backpedaling after Voldemort's return was made public. It was rubbish reporting, anyway.

"Oh damn," her father said cheerily, "the blasted owl woke her up. I told you it would, dear." The mousy haired, mild-mannered dentist was in the middle of opening a window and shooing off the large, disgruntled culprit.

"Sweetheart," her mother chastised from over her large mug of coffee, "no cursing so early in the morning. Your blood pressure will rise." Mrs. Granger patted down straying wisps of dark brown hair- as frizzy as her daughter's but much less unkempt when pulled back in her usual high bun for work. She smiled at her husband (who looked no more apoplectic in nature than a rabbit) and slid a thin parchment envelope towards her daughter. "Hermione," she said, "this is yours."

Hermione snatched it up with a hasty "thanks," although she paused to take a breath. She looked down at the envelope, and all efforts to calm herself were dashed. Her heart leaped up into her throat and then plummeted into her stomach as she realized whose handwriting it was. _Professor Dumbledore,_ she gulped, _what could this possibly be about?_

She ripped it open and skimmed it hastily, hoping for some good news, anything but confirmation of her worst fears. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind, each worse than the last, and then stopped in their tracks as she read a single line on an otherwise blank page.

Her parents had moved together while she stood there with her letter in hand, and stared at her with an odd mix of concern and amusement.

"Hermione, is everything alright?" her father asked after a moment of deafening silence.

Hermione tensed and cursed her face for being so easy to read. She crumpled the parchment in her hand.

"Can you two take the day off?"

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><p>The residents of Bonheur Court had never seen a figure quite so imposing or ill-placed as that of the Potion's Master of Hogwarts. The hedged bush, clean-cut little suburban center seemed to shrink back in on itself as the dark, imposing man strode down its sidewalks.<p>

Greasy black hair curtained the man's face and only slightly obscured the hooked nose and the thin lips twisted into a scowl that could curdle milk. The weak mid-day sun only served to make his sallow complexion appear sourer in contrast. Bedecked in black from head to foot, the man named Severus Snape made his way over to one particularly squat but immaculately clean brick house and lawn, and stopped as if waiting for something.

He did not have to wait long. The neighbors must have sensed the arrival of their ominous visitors, for not a single soul was out on the street and the curtains of every house were drawn, with no friendly little faces behind them. A crack split the thick atmosphere and Severus found himself staring at a very old, thin man in bright yellow robes.

The wizened old man's face brightened as he turned towards Severus, his pale blue eyes twinkling behind half moon spectacles. He tucked his waist-length beard into his belt and patted his brilliant wizard robes down, as if checking for something.

"Limbs all here," he said cheerily, ignoring the fact that Severus' scowl had changed to a frightening grimace, "I seem to have left without my Squirrel Nut Zippers. Alas! Although, my teeth could use a break. How are you, my boy?"

Severus sighed as he glanced around, double-checking for curious neighbors who might have noticed the arrival of the ancient man in canary-colored clothing. No one was around.

"You are asking to be jailed for breaking the Statute of Secrecy," he growled, although it was with an air of resign.

"Nonsense," his odd companion replied as they both turned and walked up the stone path to the door. "No one would begrudge an old fool colorful clothing to brighten his day. You should dress more colorfully. It could do wonders for your mood, Severus. "

"It is not the color that concerns me, although your taste is questionable in itself," Severus snapped as he knocked sharply on the door and stepped back. "And I dress practically. I don't much fancy running around looking like a—"

A panicked Miss Granger flung open the door. "Professor Dumbledore!"

Severus rather enjoyed the double register of shock on her face as her eyes first took in Dumbledore—whom she was expecting, though probably less idiotically dressed—and then Severus himself, whom she gaped at, completely dumbstruck.

"Good day Miss Granger," Dumbledore said as he looked down at the young woman over his half-moon spectacles.

"Are you going to stand there gawking, Miss Granger, or are you going to let us in?" Snape drawled. Her eyes flicked back to him, and he tried not to shift uncomfortably when they roamed all over him as if she were trying to convince herself that he was really there. When she hesitated a moment longer, he said, "_Now_ would be an appropriate time to move, girl."

She flushed, and snapped her mouth shut. "Of course, sir," she said breathlessly, stepping back to let them by.

Severus took advantage of the awkward silence that greeted him and Dumbledore to quickly glance over the Granger household. It was no different than he would have expected from a household that produced a student like Hermione Granger. It was a small, two-floor house with no doors between the kitchen on the left, the living area, and the hallway on Severus' right. It was a tidy little place, with slightly faded, old-fashioned furniture and cheery white bookshelves that lined the walls between the small telly and the stairwell. _It's so very Muggleish, _Severus thought, _and these people are as Muggle as Muggle can get. _

Mr. and Mrs. Granger stared unashamedly between him and Dumbledore as they clearly were experiencing some level of cognitive dissonance at having two strange wizards standing on their shag rug.

Mrs. Granger had Hermione's frizzy hair and wide mouth, but Mr. Granger's slightly thin face and expressive brown eyes were also Hermione's. _I wonder from whom she got those ridiculous teeth, _Severus mused, before clearing his throat.  
>That seemed to snap all three Grangers back to reality. Mr. Granger held out his hand to first Severus, and then to Dumbledore when Severus made no move to return the gesture.<p>

"Welcome," Mrs. Granger said, smiling nervously. "Can I get you two something hot to drink?"

_Ah_, Severus thought, _she got them from her mother_. "No."

"Thank you, a spot of Earl Grey would be lovely," Dumbledore said, clearly enjoying himself. However, his expression misted over slightly as he patted Mr. Granger's hand. "Unfortunately, this visit is not a happy one. We have grave matters to discuss. Hermione, if you would kindly shut the door and take a seat…"

Hermione jumped and hastily shut the door. She reached out to squeeze her father's shoulder as she brushed past him and practically leaped onto the sofa. She hugged a throw pillow to her chest and looked at Dumbledore expectantly.

Severus noticed for the first time that she had aged a bit; some of the baby fat in her face had disappeared and in her Muggle clothing of a thin, plain t-shirt, and jean shorts, she appeared taller, not swimming in oversized robes. Huge circles were under her eyes, and her hair stuck out at all angles, even more unmanageable than it usually appeared. Severus paced over to stand beside the headmaster as Dumbledore settled in a lazy chair across from the girl, and wondered how long it would take for her to rain down a barrage of questions.

"Please, sit, Professor," Mr. Granger gestured to the empty space next to Hermione as he and Mrs. Granger pulled two chairs from the kitchen and placed them next to their daughter. Severus shook his head, and the two sat and stared at the wizards with perplexed expressions.

"I am sure you're all wondering why I have arranged this little rendezvous," Dumbledore said kindly, leaning forward in his seat as he addressed the Grangers.  
>Hermione's lip trembled. <em>Here it comes,<em> Severus thought, _the child can't keep her mouth shut for anything._

Sir," she squeaked, clutching the pillow even tighter, "is this about Harry? Or… or Ron? Or the Weasleys? Did something happen?"  
>"Nothing has happened to your friends, my dear," Dumbledore said, "we have come because it is <em>you <em>who are in danger. I am afraid this news is rather calamitous. You see…"

_Oh, for fuck's sake.  
><em>  
>"You must die," Severus snarled impatiently.<p>

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><p><strong>AN:** Oh dear, whatever could he mean?

The name of Hermione's street, Bonheur Court, is something I made up. Bonheur is French for happiness, in case anyone was wondering. As a Francophile and second-language speaker, I may or may not be using a lot of French references in this story. ( ;)I promise I'll try to keep it to a minimum)

Also, because this is rated mature, I will be having some of the characters use curse words and other foul language. I will try to keep everyone in character as much as possible, but I do love me some gritty language.

On to the next chapter! Hope you will enjoy it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: And so, the adventure begins. Well, almost.

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><p>Hermione's blood froze. <em>Die? What?<br>_The shriek of the kettle on the stove made all three Grangers jump. Mrs. Granger got up to pour the hot water, but Mr. Granger remained where he was and turned bright red.

"What do you mean by this?" he demanded, "Why would you say such a thing?"

Dumbledore turned to face the Potion's professor. "Severus, there is no need for such melodrama."

The Potions Master remained expressionless but looked away. Hermione hoped he was ashamed, but the fear in the pit of her stomach overwhelmed any other vindictive thought.

"Severus is not far off the point, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said, "Voldemort's Death Eaters have been crying for blood after the fiasco at the ministry. They are hungry for vengeance, and to prove themselves capable again in Voldemort's eyes. Attacks have been less prevalent than we feared, this summer—have you read the Prophet?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Excellent, it is useless anyway. The few attacks that have happened thus far have been mostly isolated incidents, and largely targeting Muggles. It is not receiving coverage in the papers, and we would probably not even have known about these attacks if it weren't for our spy. Voldemort seems to be taking his time amassing followers and will likely not come out in the open until his army is stronger. He would not risk an attack so obvious as to put the whole wizarding community into a worse panic. Not yet, at least."

Dumbledore took a breath and looked at Severus. Hermione tensed, wondering what her Potion's teacher could possibly add. When Severus ignored the cue to speak, Dumbledore sighed and shifted in his seat, leaning towards the Grangers. His eyes no longer twinkled; they were cold and hard.

"We have learned recently that Voldemort has offered a position in his Inner Circle to any of his loyal followers who can kill you or Mr. Weasley…"

"But you said Ron wasn't in any danger," Hermione jumped in, "So why come to me?"

Mrs. Granger returned with a cup of tea for Dumbledore, and sat down with her husband. Mr. Granger took her hand and stroked it, looking as though he wanted to jump up or shout or both. Hermione glanced over at them guiltily. She hadn't told them of the danger they might be in-hadn't told them how serious the war ahead might be-to prevent them from forbidding her to return to Hogwarts in the fall. _I just wanted home to feel safe…something beyond the insanity. _She could hex herself for being so naïve.

"Who can kill you or Mr. Weasley, "Dumbledore continued, "as quietly as possible. At present, it would seem that he would prefer your death over Mr. Weasley's, for the same reason he is not attacking other Pureblood families. That is the option the Order would prefer to handle, as well."

"How….how could they do that? We're only Harry's friends." Hermione couldn't look at her parent's faces as she spoke.

"After much discussion, we—that is to say, Professor Snape and myself—have struck upon a plan of action. You have two options, and of course we will let you discuss them and think things over. You see, our spy among the ranks of Voldemort's Death Eaters is in a perilous position and an opportunity has presented itself in this situation. It is only a matter of time before the Death Eaters find your home and your family and…well, nothing good would come of that."

"So we are going to have to go into hiding?" Mr. Granger asked, "Why would these people attack Hermione?" He rounded on her and Hermione shrunk back, clutching the pillow harder. "What have you done to be at the end of such animosity?"

Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles at them as he replied, "Like it or not, your Hermione here has become an integral part of this wizarding war. Her only crime is the love she has for her friends, and her unswerving loyalty. She has been an irreplaceable asset and would make an excellent addition to the Order when she comes of age."

Hermione felt her cheeks redden as she glowed under the praise, in spite of the situation. _Harry is usually the subject of the Headmaster's scrutiny, not me_.

"Absolutely not," Mrs. Granger snapped, "she is too young to be involved in any sort of fighting, too young to be part of whatever your …organization is doing."

"Mum, I'll be of age this September, and I can join if I want," Hermione shot her mother a dark look. She turned back to Dumbledore before her mother could reply. "I still don't understand what it is that you want," she said, "And why only I am in danger."

Dumbledore, for the first time, appeared discomfited. "While it is true that you and Mr. Weasley are important figures in our community, Miss Granger, it would be…"

"Tactically wiser to eliminate you rather than Mr. Weasley," Snape finished. The Grangers shifted their focus to the Potion's Master.

"What the hell does that mean?" Mrs. Granger asked.

He raised a hand and lazily ticked off points on his long, bony fingers. "The Weasleys are an incredibly powerful reminder to our community that there is another option for people, they do not have to join the Dark Lord. It is in our best interests to keep their family together, both as a symbol and to keep them, as a unit, from falling into a sense of chaos if Ron had to disappear. Further, it would be far easier to stage your death than his, because there are fewer loose ends to... tie up."

Her mum opened her mouth as if to respond, but Professor Snape cut her off.

"This is taking too long. To put it simply, you and your entire family will be playthings for a group of bloodthirsty Death Eaters if you do not of them as ...the Wizard equivalent of your German Nazis. They do not care for your kind, and_ they show neither pity nor mercy_," Snape hissed the last several words.

"Severus, please," Dumbledore said, his tone a warning. He smiled at the Granger family. "You can choose to take your family and flee Britain completely, or we will fake your deaths and Hermione can remain to help out in the war effort. Should Hermione choose to participate in faking her own death, you would be relocated to a safer place in another country for the remainder of the war, necessarily separated from Hermione for safety."

Hermione absorbed the information in silence, not daring to look over and see the expressions of her parents. After a moment of silence, a thought struck her.

"Why would we need to fake my death?" Hermione asked, perplexed. "Why can't we just make this house Unplottable and use the Fidelius Charm, or use other means of magical protection to prevent them from hurting us?"

Dumbledore answered, "Frankly, we do not have the manpower to post a guard at your house to keep your family safe, and although we could make your house Unplottable, it is only a matter of time before you are attacked at Hogwarts, Miss Granger, or at Hogsmeade, and rendering your home Unplottable, as well as using a Secret Keeper, would make it very…. difficult for your family to function in a normal Muggle lifestyle."

Mr. Granger spoke up, "Difficult how? How does this "Uplottable" spell operate? And the…er... Fidelity charm?"

"It would make it nigh impossible for you to entertain any semblance of a social life and possibly your careers, for one thing," Dumbledore said, "As it would hide your home from everyone and everything that you did not expressly reveal the 'secret' to."

Mrs. Granger laughed nervously, "Well the way we live, that wouldn't pose too much of an inconvenience."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers, and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "We can offer you temporary protection should you choose to move out of the country. You would need time to….take care of personal affairs. But I strongly urge you to reconsider this. Your daughter is an adult—"

"She's 16!" Mr. Granger cut in, redder in the face than before. _He's not handling this well_, Hermione thought, cringing internally.

"_Nearly _an adult," Dumbledore amended, eyes twinkling for a moment before becoming grave again. "Please understand, we do not wish to take this route, but it is the only course we see fit to follow in these dark days. If our spy 'murders' you and your loved ones, he will advance to a coveted position amongst the ranks of Voldemort's followers, and restore Voldemort's faith in him. This would be an invaluable move, if you will, for the Order. His story would need to be completely convincing, and you, Miss Granger, would have to cut off contact with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley—"

"What?!" Hermione cried, "To what end for me? Would I be put off to the side forgotten? Am I being forced to leave Hogwarts? Why can't we protect my parents while I still attend school? And what does _he_ have to do with this?" She jabbed a finger towards Professor Snape, who sneered slightly at her gesture.

"You would remain in England, Miss Granger, working on important projects for me," Dumbledore said. "But we would understand if you choose to flee with your family. It is too dangerous for you to return to school—you can complete studies on the side should you choose to stay and participate in helping our spy. He could use the help this year."

"Do we have no say in this?" Mr. Granger asked, "We'll disappear if we must and our lives are truly in danger, but we will not let Hermione participate in your silly war."

Something clicked with Hermione when she looked over at Professor Snape again. "Professor Snape is the high ranking spy, isn't he? The one you want to 'kill me'? Sir," she added hastily when her voice edged on impertinence. She regarded her professor with a growing sense of awe and fear. Snape maintained a perfect scowl, no real emotion came across his face at her question.

"Professor Snape is indeed the man for this job."

"Albus—" Snape looked at the Headmaster sharply.

"Now is the time, Severus, she will have to decide and she might as well know who it is that she is being asked to place her trust in, " the Headmaster responded before turning back to the Grangers. "You must decide for yourselves which option you will choose. I strongly urge you to trust young Hermione's judgment," he said to the Granger couple. "Miss Granger, try to think of the bigger picture. There is only loss in war, and it will affect all of us. We will return tomorrow morning to help you move your things and discuss what you have chosen to do. No matter what, secrecy is your best option. I would ask you to not contact anyone other than myself."

He rose and brushed off his shining yellow robes, and with a flick of his wand, the teacup soared through the air and landed neatly in the sink with a sharp _clink._

"Your home is lovely," he added brightly as he turned.

Hermione stared as Professor Snape whirled around and marched out the door, with Dumbledore right behind him.

"_I do not see why it was_ necessary_ for me to be present_," Hermione could hear Snape snarling under his breath. She took a deep breath to regain her equilibrium before turning to her parents, who looked as thunderstruck as she felt.

"Mum," she said, "I have to-"

"Absolutely not, Hermione."

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><p><strong>AN**: It would seem that life for our lovely protagonist is about to get that much more interesting. Please review, if you like (or hate) the story so far!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: An intermediary chapter. The set up will be worth it, I promise.

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><p>Hermione twirled her wand between her fingers while she tried to think clearly. She sat on her bed, frozen but for the twitching of the wand and her breathing, letting the seconds and hours roll by without much notice.<p>

Occasionally her wand sparked as it danced in her fingers, but she wasn't concerned. Professor McGonagall had explained to her years ago when she had the time turner that her year living a double-and sometimes triple- life would age her faster than the rest of her peer mates. As far as Hermione knew, she had been of legal age for months already.

She had never wanted to try any magic at home for fear of being wrong about the exact time her body would be physically 17, but Dumbledore's visit had changed everything.

She knew that the laws governing under-age magic didn't even _exactly_ trace the source of magic within any given space, and many wizarding children could get away with performing illegal magic without notice. Her perusal of _Ludacris, Lurid, Loony and Legal: The Makeup of Modern Magical Law _when she was 14 and trying to find a way to save Buckbeak's life had assured her of that, although it surprised her that it wasn't more common knowledge. When Dumbledore had performed magic in her house, she knew instantly that the Ministry was no longer watching out for Underage Magic in her vicinity. If Dumbledore had not alerted anyone at the Ministry about his visit to her house in advance, then that meant (she hoped) her Trace had disappeared. For a mission as secretive as Dumbledore's, he would've used absolute discretion.

The inklings of a plan had begun to solidify in Hermione's mind. She had been banished to her room hours ago when her parents had gotten into a heated argument about the sudden change in future plans. When she had insisted that she would stay, they had grounded her as if she was twelve. She was not angry, however, the time for frustration and anger was gone and she had a choice to make. Knowing that Professor Snape was the Order's spy amongst the higher ranking Death Eaters made her at once relieved and uneasy. _Trust the devil you know_, she mused, _but not entirely. _

Hermione hopped off the bed and took a deep breath. She pointed her wand at a bound stack of books by her small desk, and whispered, "_Wingardium Leviosa_."

The books rose neatly off the floor, and she directed the floating mass towards the Hogwarts trunk that stood wedged into the far corner of her room, next to the closet. With an elegant swish of her wand, the books flew from the air to the trunk and stacked nicely inside.

Now she waited for the letter from the Ministry to appear. Each second ticked by agonizingly, but after some time—five minutes by her count—she breathed a sigh of relief. _I really am 17. The Trace must be gone._ She considered the implications of this for a moment, and briefly mourned the loss of a birthday. _I wonder when it happened, exactly? I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. Hermione Granger will be dead soon._

She began casting spells all over the room, tentatively at first, and then faster and faster. The familiar rush of tingling magic through her body was a sensation she had sorely missed, and she relished the freedom of using her wand as she pleased. In little to no time at all, all of her personal belongings and clothes had been shrunk and carefully stored in the magically expanded trunk.

_Now for the hard part, _she thought as she surveyed her newly tidied room. She slid the trunk, palm-sized now, into a jacket pocket and transfigured a look-alike trunk to stand in its old place. Nodding to herself, she stepped out into the hallway and walked to the living room where her parents were sitting side by side.

She raised her wand, and began to chant. 

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><p>Tuesday morning dawned already muggy and hot by 7 am, the sun shining hazily through a clear and cloudless sky. Severus Snape loathed the heat, the glare of the sun shining on his back through untinted windows, and the task he had before him. He had no desire to take on yet another chore, but Voldemort was proving even more difficult to manipulate in the aftermath of the debacle at the Ministry.<p>

Severus and Dumbledore stood side by side in the small Granger living room once more, staring at the young witch before them.

"Where have your parents gone, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked kindly, indicating the rest of the empty house with a gesture.

The girl had large circles under her eyes. She stood with her arms crossed against her chest, at once defiant and guarded. Dressed in a very light, green jacket, plain white t-shirt and faded jeans, she looked as if she was preparing to go out shopping or to visit the countryside, not as if she was about to permanently leave her childhood home behind.

"They've been taken care of," she said slowly, her eyes flickering between Dumbledore and Severus.

"Would you mind explaining, my dear?" Dumbledore prodded. Severus looked around once more at the living room. It looked nearly the same as the day before, but somehow the warm, inviting personal atmosphere of the house had vanished. The kitchen no longer looked cozy, and the living room seemed more…clinical.

"I erased their memories," she answered, "They now believe they are Wendell and Monica Wilkins, a wonderfully happy couple with no…" her eyes began to glisten with unshed tears. Severus looked away, uncomfortable with the display of emotion as she shook her head vigorously to regain her composure. "With no daughter," she continued, "And they have been suddenly compelled to pack all of their most important belongings before checking into a hotel last night. They will be flying to Australia tomorrow… They've always loved Australia."

"Ah," Dumbledore looked to Severus. "How wonderfully clever the young can be. I am sorry, Miss Granger, that you have been tasked with such a heavy burden."

Her shoulders fell a little in a visible sign of relief. "You're not…mad?" She asked.

"I am sure your parents will be furious enough, "Dumbledore said lightly, "when their memories are restored. In regrettable times we are often faced with regrettable choices. Let us hope that Monica and Wendell Wilkins are happy, and that Hermione Granger will live to make them whole again."

Severus bristled. "How did you use magic without the Ministry being contacted? You are underage—you could have ruined everything!"

"I'm already of age, sir," Granger said, looking at him with hardened eyes. "The Time-Turner I used during my Third year aged me prematurely."

Dumbledore's face lit up in a bright smile. "Brightest witch of her age, indeed," he said, ignoring Severus' scoffing. "How wonderful of you to have figured out that

the Trace is gone."

"Enough," Severus said, redirecting their focus, "Miss Granger, now that you have so kindly taken care of part of our problem, I am assuming that you have made the choice to remain a part of our world."

She nodded.

"I must ask another thing of you, then," Dumbledore said to the witch, "I need to you write to Harry and the Weasleys and tell them you will be delayed and cannot return to the Burrow until Saturday. I have a task for Harry that he must help me with, and your loss will unbalance him too greatly to help."

"I can do that, sir," she said, "And then what?"

"I am afraid we did not quite anticipate you being so prepared to leave already," Dumbledore said. "If you have your belongings packed away, you may give them to me. You will be moved into your own room in Hogwarts. We will discuss at length your new identity soon enough."

Miss Granger reached into her pocket and withdrew a small trunk. She handed it over to Dumbledore and looked at him expectantly.

"Now I will leave you with Severus, as I have other matters to look into. Severus and several other Death Eaters will be attacking this house in several days, and we must have a decoy to make your death a believable one."

The young witch looked panic stricken for a moment. "You can't stay?"

Severus sneered at her, stepping forward. "I do not look forward to this either, girl. It will take some time, but I need to create a believable doppelganger to murder. I will arrange the attack to occur at night, but the body must be believable enough to convince the other Death Eaters and your friends that you are well and truly dead."

The young woman gulped. "What must I do?"

Dumbledore clapped Severus on the back. "Report to me when you return to Hogwarts, Severus," he said. "Miss Granger, good day. I will see you soon."

Dumbledore Disapparated on the spot, turning with a wink and a sharp cracking sound.

Severus regarded his ex-pupil with critical eyes. "Sit," he said, "I must also leave. I will return in 30 minutes. Write your letters and then we will begin."

He turned on the spot, squeezing his eyes close as he Disapparated to shut out the image of Hermione Granger's frightened face. 

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><p><strong>AN: **Next chapter, Hermione and Severus will be alone and we will finally start to move the plot along. Thanks for your patience. I would REALLY appreciate your reviews- it's so helpful to know what people think. Thanks for reading.!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I am sorry if the pace is slow, I'm working on it. Enjoy!

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><p>Two crisply folded pieces of parchment, one addressed to the Weasley family, one addressed to Harry Potter, lay on the small coffee table at Hermione's knees. She sat stiffly on the sofa, once more squeezing a throw pillow for comfort as she waited for Professor Snape to return. The house was so still and silent that she could hear every tick of the small clock near the kitchen stove. The sound of her own breathing was beginning to drive her mad.<p>

"Crooks!" she called out, remembering that her half-kneazle had avoided her the night before. "Crookshanks, come out here. I promise I won't send you away."

She looked around expectantly, and was rewarded when her squishy-faced pet padded grumpily into the room.

"Don't look at me like that," she said to him, "I feel guilty enough as it is. I couldn't think of a better plan."

Crookshanks leapt onto her lap and stared her in the face.

"I'll fix it soon, Crooks. This war will be over before you know it and the first thing I'll do is restore their memories. And I promise in the meantime that you'll come with me to Hogwarts."

Appeased for the moment, Crookshanks lowered his glare and began to knead her thigh with his paws.

Just then, another sharp crack split the air and Hermione looked up to see her Potions professor standing on the exact spot he had Disapparated from. _He is frighteningly accurate in everything he does_, she thought, before noticing the strange bundles that her professor was carrying with him.

"What... are those?" She asked, wide-eyed as Professor Snape dumped three medium-sized cloth bags onto the floor with a heavy _thud. _All of Crookshanks fur stood on end, and he backed up against Hermione, hissing in the direction of the bundles.

"I suppose it would be too much to ask that you muzzle the beast," Professor Snape snapped. "There is nothing to fear."

He nudged the bundle closest to Hermione with a black dragon-hide boot. "These will be the canvasses on which I will recreate you and your family. Pigs have some remarkable similarities to human beings. Their hearts, brains, and skin are rather like ours."

Snape flicked his wand at the bundles. "_Finite Incantatem!_"

The bundles began to grow, and the cloth surrounding them ripped as large pieces of flesh began pressing through the seams. The bundles tripled in size, and the slightly foreign smell of death filled the small room.

Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth, stifling a scream. "You brought dead pigs here? Where did you even find 3 dead pigs?"

Snape's eyes flashed, though Hermione couldn't tell if it was with annoyance or amusement.

"It matters little now, doesn't it? Remove your jacket."

She was halfway out of her jacket before she even questioned his command, obedience to her professors was that ingrained. She paused and looked between the Potion's Master and the pig carcasses on the shag. "What exactly are you going to do with them? Sir," she added hastily.

"I said _remove your jacket._" Snape took a step closer to her. "I will be using the pigs to transfigure into a body that looks like yours. Now give me your hand, and I can begin."

Snape accio'ed a chair from the kitchen table and sat between Hermione on the sofa, and the pigs on the floor. Hermione was loathe to touch him, and did so reluctantly. With her jacket off, she felt miserably exposed, confused, and uncomfortable.

She had never, upon some reflection, been so close to a male that was either a peer or a fatherly figure like Mr. Weasley or Sirius or Professor Lupin. Nor had she ever bothered to look very closely at her Potion's professor, and now he was right next to her, waiting for her to offer up her hand. She wondered what exactly he thought of her. This was the first time, and _probably the last,_ she thought, that she had ever been around Professor Snape outside of a classroom context, and she was discomfited by the realization that she had never truly given much thought to the life of the man that she and her friends constantly antagonized.

Professor Snape glared at her, and she tentatively offered him her hand. Surprisingly, he just grabbed her by the wrist and stretched her arm forward from the elbow until her muscles were taught. The professor also looked uncomfortable about touching her, or perhaps he was just displeased to be dealing with one of his least favorite students. Hermione sat ramrod straight, hardly daring to breathe, while Snape just sat and examined her forearm.

"Sir…?"

Professor Snape ignored the implied question, and they sat in silence for several minutes. He waved his wand in a complex pattern that seemed to follow a pattern similar to the dark veins under the skin on her wrist. His wand swept in a wide arc, leaving a trail of light between her arm and one of the pig carcasses at her feet. Hermione grimaced but couldn't look away from the pulsing light or her professor's hand. The Potion's Master began moving his lips as if chanting a spell, but Hermione heard no words. His expression was fierce and concentrated—Hermione had never seen such an earnest emotion on his face. Her hand twitched and for the briefest of moments she felt the urge to flick the hairs that had fallen across his face away from his eyes.

Professor Snape's eyes snapped up to meet hers as his wand came to a halt above her forearm. The blue light that was strung between her arm and the pig shimmered as Professor Snape gripped her arm with his free hand. Hermione flinched as he raised his wand arm to her chest, but a strong blow did not follow. He tapped her collarbone once with his wand, and muttered "_Geminio Femalle Corpus_."

Hermione felt a rush of warmth from her arm through her entire body. Every hair stood on end and she shivered, feeling as though an unidentifiable part of herself was being drawn out by the magic. She closed her eyes against the tingling sensation, and gasped when she reopened them. Before her, in place of the grotesque pig corpse, a female body lay sprawled on the carpet. It was unclothed, she noted, and mortifyingly, it was _her. _

Snape barely looked over at the body before flicking his wand at it, conjuring a blanket to cover the entire body except for the shoulders, arms, and head. Hermione stared at it as Professor Snape leaned back in his chair and began rummaging around his robes to pull out a clear flask filled with some kind of bubbling, rose gold potion.

"It looks like me," Hermione said breathlessly, still shocked. It was so strange to see her own body, face slack in what looked like sleep, sprawled on the floor. "But not quite like me." The hair on the copy was limp, several shades paler than her own hair, and the skin was a few shades lighter than her own warm brown complexion.

"Quite an observation," Professor Snape said, "A future position with _The Daily Prophet_ would suit you."

"Professor," Hermione returned to staring openly at him. _Was that a joke? I've never heard him _joke_ before. _"Why are the colors wrong?"

Professor Snape's usual scowl flickered across his face for a moment as he returned Hermione's stare. It slid off his face in the next moment, as he shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "The Gemino charm, as I'm sure you know, replicates the _object _the caster intends to conjure an exact duplicate." He slid the glass stopper off the top of his flask and used his wand to siphon a small portion of it, no larger than Hermione's pinky finger, into the air. It floated down near the duplicate Hermione's throat, where it hovered as Professor Snape placed the flask on the floor.

"Sit still, Miss Granger, do stop fidgeting. This is a complicated process and I need you to remain as still as possible." Snape glared at Hermione, who had been twitching her fingers while he spoke, unconsciously reaching for the parchment and quill that weren't there.

"Now," Snape continued, to Hermione's surprise. "I could have used the simple Gemino spell on you to create, out of nothing, a duplicate you. However, Gemino is not a spell or curse meant to be used on human persons. The spell, at worst, would create a distorted copy of your body, which could possibly begin to deteriorate as soon as it was cast. Gemino duplicates deteriorate over time, and with such a complex replication, the likelihood of instant failure is astronomical."

Hermione momentarily forgot that she was on her couch and that the intimidating Professor Snape, a double-crossing Death Eater spy for the Order, stood out horribly against the décor of her home. Mentally she flickered through the books she had read on complex charms, and remembered coming across a reference to the Gemino charm. She had only read a little about it before, but had never thought about the implications of applying the charm to living bodies. "What would happen, at best?"

"Think, Miss Granger, what would happen if a perfect duplicate had been successfully created of yourself?" Snape glowered at her. "Use your brain, not your textbook knowledge."

She hesitated, uncertain for a moment. "I suppose… there'd be another me. But it couldn't be me because if it was a person with a brain exactly like mine, and a body exactly like mine, the moment it began to exist consciously—if that were even possible—its perceptions would no longer be mine. It'd create some sort of…paradox?"

"Potentially. One would necessarily have to consider the ramifications of creating life in such a way." Professor Snape did not appear completely displeased. "To create a new person would require incredibly complex and complicated magic. It would be nearly impossible in the first place, and then to create such a thing just to destroy it or let it deteriorate would be…cruel. Now look at me. I must change the body so that it more closely resembles you, and that will require some concentration on your actual features."

Hermione blanched but remained still as the Potion's Master resumed his observation. His wand, pointed directly at the Hermione duplicate, began to glow with spells that slowly changed the features of the body's hair, skin, and face.

"Sir, you still haven't explained how you managed to do…that. If the Geminio spell wouldn't work, what did you do? And why doesn't it look exactly like me?"

"The _standard_ Geminio charm wouldn't work. I modified it so that it would project your features on a canvas that already had the basics of life. Rather than conjuring a body, the aim was to transfigure one. It would seem that the spell only replicated the body's structure, and not all of the details on the surface. It is a spell of my own creation, though clearly it has flaws."

Hermione's eyes flickered between her professor's face and the face of her duplicate self as he worked. Gradually, the features sharpened on the body and she realized that before, her duplicate had resembled more closely a wax replica rather than an exact copy. The hair grew stiffer and the frizzy ringlets that Hermione fought so hard to tame on her own head blossomed on the duplicate's head in place of the limp curls. The freckles on her shoulders appeared, one by one, and the duplicate's skin deepened to a rich, warm color from the sickly pale it had been. A small glow under the blanket and around the ribcage of the duplicate let Hermione know that Professor Snape was indeed acquainted with the scar that Dolohov had given her. _He probably helped Madame Pomfrey heal me_, she thought. Amazed and a little frightened by the accuracy, she looked away and clutched at Crookshanks, who had been faithfully by her side through the entire conversation with the professor.

"I need to see your eyes," Snape admonished. "Now, girl." His hand reached up and took her by the chin, turning her to face him once more.

_His hands are huge_, she realized, _and warm_. She couldn't figure out which surprised her more, that Severus Snape's hands were actually human hands (neither cold and dead nor clawing and shriveled like she would have imagined), or that she found his touch surprisingly gentle. She noticed, too, that his eyes were not_ quite_ black. Rather, they were a very deep, dark brown, further darkened by his heavy eyelids and very thick eyelashes.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably less than a minute, Snape broke his gaze with Hermione. "One more step finished."

"What is the potion for, sir?" she asked, now free to look around. The pinkish potion still swirled above the neck of the duplicate, twisting delicately in the air.

"It is a potion that will mimic life," he said.

"Amazing. How?"

"Do you always feel the need to ask a thousand questions?" Snape snapped.

"I'm sorry, sir. This is just new and strange to me. I feel as though I have a right to know what is going on, considering this is my life, for however long I can still be me." Hermione could feel her pulse quicken, but she set her jaw defiantly.

Snape regarded her impassively, but spoke. "By itself, the potion will only make a body _appear_ as though it is living, most likely as though it were asleep. It serves as the base for a spell that will be woven into it and which will make the corpse it is lathered on react to stimuli depending on the intention of the caster. I need your voice to make it work."

"My voice?"

"The subtle animation that the potion and spell invoke will not be powerful enough to mimic free will. This body won't walk and talk much, and not at all of its own volition," he said, "The Death Eaters and I will most likely strike in the middle of the night, so it is imperative that, should something go wrong or someone reach this body before I can, it react accordingly to a pain-inducing stimulus. The body itself won't feel anything, but the spell will react to other magic by reacting according to its original intention. In short, it must be able to scream. And that requires a realistic replica of your voice in action. The vocal chords without direction will do nothing."

Hermione nodded slowly, her pulse settling as it was clear she wouldn't have to argue with the professor. "Do I have to...actually scream? Or...?" A ridiculous thought flashed across her mind as she imagined Snape asking her to sing, like Ursula the sea-witch from a childhood movie. _Somehow, it feels wrong to think of muggle animation and Professor Snape in the same context.  
><em>

"Nothing, just imagine yourself screaming and I will perform the spell. Concentrate." Snape lowered his wand at her neck. _"Imiteson Crivoix!"_

A piercing shriek split the air, although Hermione hadn't even opened her mouth. The sound rang around them as Snape directed a strange, pulsing blue sphere that had come from her throat towards the potion above the duplicate's neck. The moment the blue object touched the rosy liquid, it turned a deep violet in color. The potion sank down onto the skin of the duplicate, and vanished almost entirely. Two droplets remained, and floated towards the open and lifeless eyes. One droplet each covered the entirely of the two irises, and somehow sank in.

Hermione recoiled in horror as the duplicate blinked, eyes suddenly wide with terror, and a second bloodcurdling scream tore through the room.

"_Silencio!"_ Severus said, unperturbed.

_He looks rather pleased, actually,_ Hermione thought with a huff. Duplicate Hermione was still screaming, and it began to claw at the air wildly with one hand while clutching the blanket in the other. The real Hermione held tightly onto Crookshanks, who had leaped up and begun to hiss again at the duplicate.

"Can you make it stop?!" Hermione cried.

"It will naturally stop by itself. The spell is just sinking in. The next time any magic touches the skin of this body, it will repeat its actions nearly exactly." Snape stood up, and flicked his wand at the duplicate. Soft, purple pajamas appeared on its body in place of the blanket, more fully covering the skin.

Hermione barely had room in her brain to think register Snape's rather conservative choice in bedclothes for her alternate body. She was fixated on the Duplicate's terrified features. Snape's spell had re-triggered the reactions mid-spell, and it began to claw at the air anew. She watched with no little awe as her Professor hefted the Duplicate up to its feet and began to push it towards her bedroom. The image of her own face distorted in apparent fear and agony was one she felt she would not soon forget.

_This is so surreal._

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><p>AN: In case anyone was wondering~

-Yes, all of the stuff about the Gemino charm/curse is canon except my extrapolations about what would happen if applied to living bodies.

-"Geminio Femalle Corpus" roughly kinda sorta means "Replicate female body"

(-I am horribly sorry about the botched latin)

-"Imiteson Crivoix" is seriously mangled French for "Imitate (the) sound (of the) screaming voice"

-Disney's "The Little Mermaid" was released before Hermione went to Hogwarts so she _totally could've watched it. _

-I tend to imagine Hermione as a woman of color, and not completely white. Perhaps of mixed race or middle Eastern descent? If it makes you uncomfortable, I guess you could go back to imagining her as just pleasantly tan. Always. With bushy, kinky hair. Ohwait?

-I'm sorry if there are spelling/grammar mistakes. I'm usually quite good about editing but the problem with having only one pair of eyes means missing a few things.

Please leave a review, even if you hate it. It helps. Thanks for reading!


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